Cult Ture Shocked
by Erin T. Aardvark
Summary: The Impossibles are up against a smooth talking cult leader, who's followers are wayward teenage boys. Can they outwit him before something drastic happens? Rated T as a precaution
1. Jamie

_AUTHOR'S NOTE: I find it fair to warn you, this is one of my "heavier" stories, if you know what I mean. As always, The Impossibles and Big D belong to Hanna-Barbera. Everyone else you encounter in this fanfic is mine.

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Our story opens this time on a house in suburban Megatropolis, belonging to a family named Phelps. The head of the household was Dr. Isaac Phelps, the chief medical officer at the Secret Security Headquarters. He was sitting at the table, reading the daily newspaper. His wife, Marjorie, was giving the couple's year-old baby, Joey, his morning bottle. The couple's nine-year-old fraternal twins (Philip and Phoebe) were sitting at the kitchen table, shoveling sugar coated cereal into their mouths (Frosted Flakes for Philip, Froot Loops for Phoebe). This left the couple's eldest son, sixteen-year-old Isaac James Jr. (or "Jamie," as everyone called him) unaccounted for. Marjorie knew he was still upstairs in his bedroom. She could hear heavy rock music coming from his room.

"Jamie!" she called, hoping her son didn't have his stereo on _too_ loud.

Jamie couldn't hear his mother calling him. He definitely had his music on too loud. And Jamie's choice of music drove his parents, and the neighbors absolutely crazy. Jamie liked acid rock and psychedelic music, like Jimi Hendrix and The Who, especially when they began smashing their instruments.

Jamie was a bit of a rebel. He had long, shaggy, light brown hair, that hung in his face (but it didn't completely cover his eyes), and freckles. sometimes resented his father working for a government agency. And it bugged him that he knew the Impossibles. Most of the girls at school knew it, too. They would constantly bug him for concert tickets, or introducing them to the band. Jamie had been to the SSHQ many times, but he didn't particularly care for the three of them. He felt they were too goody-goody, and he hated their music. They were too bubblegum for him.

"JAMIE!" Mrs. Phelps screamed, determined to be heard over her son's loud music. Jamie either didn't hear his mother, or chose to ignore her.

"Let me handle this, Marjorie," Dr. Phelps said. He got up from the table, and went upstairs to his son's bedroom. He opened the door. The music was practically deafening. Jamie wasn't even aware his father had walked in. He was just sitting on his bed, playing an electric guitar (and badly), trying to keep in sync with his stereo. Dr. Phelps groaned, and turned it off.

"Hey!" Jamie shouted. "I was listening to that!"

"Sorry, but my ears were starting to bleed," Dr. Phelps said. "What in the world was that you're listening to, anyway?"

"What," Jamie said.

"I said what were you listening to."

"What."

"I _said_ . . . . ."

"No, Pop. That's the band's name. What."

"What?"

"Right."

"I'm confused."

"So what else is new?"

"Never mind. Just get downstairs for breakfast, please. And try to keep your music . . . . if you can call it that . . . . down a little."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah."

With that, Jamie got up, and trudged down the stairs. It was a Monday. He knew what was in store. He'd go off to Megatropolis High School, Philip and Phoebe would go off to Megatropolis Elementary school, Dr. Phelps would be off to work, and Mrs. Phelps would stick Joey in his play pen for the morning and do the chores, like all normal housewives did. It was the same old same old every single day, and Jamie hated it. This was another reason he disliked the Impossibles. Since he hung out at the SSHQ from time to time, and since his dad knew them quite well, Jamie knew their true identities as secret fighters for justice, and that bugged him. He was stuck in the suburbs, leading a dull, boring, humdrum life, while the three of them were almost always off, galavanting around the world, busting up crime, collaring crooks, and playing sold out concerts to thousands of screaming girls. The most exciting thing that ever went on in his life was that one time one of the football players at school dropped a piece of the cafeteria's mystery meat on the floor, and the principal stepped on it, and slid right into the adjacent wall.

"Man, my life is a drag," he groaned. "Nothing ever goes on around here."

"I beg to differ," Dr. Phelps said. "I, personally, find my line of work to be quite eventful."

"Oh, please," Jamie said, rolling his eyes. "All you ever do for the SSHQ is sit around and wait for someone to come in with an injury, which doesn't happen that often, Pops, admit it!"

"I admit, what I do for the agency isn't as glamorous as the agents' assignments, but that doesn't mean I sit idly by and wait for something to happen!"

"Face it, Pop. Your job at the SSHQ is boring. I bet you've never even caught a crook in your entire career. I betcha can't even fight!"

"All right, all right," Mrs. Phelps said. "That's enough of that, Jamie. Now you'd better get going or else you'll be late for school."

"Oh yeah, wouldn't want _that_ to happen," Jamie said, sarcastically. "Golly gee, sure don't want to miss school today. Mrs. Weston might give a pop quiz! Oh boy, oh boy, how thrilling!"

"Can the sarcasm, Jamie," Dr. Phelps said.

Jamie grumbled, picked up his backpack, and left. Dr. Phelps sighed.

"I don't know what I'm going to do with him," he said.


	2. Mall Meeting

The Impossibles were cruising back into Megatropolis after another whirlwind tour of playing sold out concerts and collaring crooks.

"I think it's time we put in for a vacation," Coiley said.

"You said it," Fluey replied. "Man, am I wiped. These long winded tours are the pits."

"Well, since we've already checked in at HQ, let's go do something fun," Multi suggested, tuning his guitar, and accidentally breaking the string he was tuning. "Hmm. Looks like I tuned it a little too much."

"Head for the mall, Coiley," Fluey said. "We can pick up some guitar strings there."

"Right," Coiley said. "We used up all the extras already!"

Multi's puppy, Skittles, barked as Coiley landed the Impossi-Jet, and converted to Impossi-Mobile. Skittles loved it when the car was in mobile mode. She loved hanging out of the side with her ears and tongue flapping in the wind. She didn't particularly care for doing that when the car was in jet mode. When the boys arrived at the mall, Skittles began whining as the boys got out.

"Sorry, girl," Multi said, scratching his pup behind the ears. "But you know dogs aren't allowed inside the mall."

Skittles whined a little, and sat down. It was about all she could do.

The boys walked inside the mall, and saw a group of teenagers standing around. It was obvious they were skipping school. Among the group was Jamie Phelps. Immediately, Fluey grimaced.

"Oh brother," he groaned.

"What's wrong?" Coiley asked.

"Jamie Phelps at ten o' clock high," Fluey said.

"Oh no," Multi sighed. "You know what's coming if he sees us."

"Yeah, snide comments," Coiley said, rolling his eyes.

"Come on, let's just get those guitar strings, and split," Fluey said. "I don't want to deal with Jamie today."

Unfortunately, the boys weren't going to get off the hook. Jamie saw them, picked up his backpack, and walked over to them.

"Well, well, well," he said. "If it isn't the Impossibles. Nice of you to grace the ol' hometown with your presence."

"Give it a rest, Jamie," Fluey said.

"What are you doing here, anyway, Jamie?" Coiley asked. "It's Monday, isn't it?"

"Yeah, it's Monday," Jamie said. "I'm surprised you guys can keep the days of the week straight."

"So I take it you're skipping school," Multi commented.

"We have a winner!" Jamie shouted. "Good guess, Multi. I guess there is a brain under that mop of yours after all."

Multi said nothing. Jamie's hair was longer than his, so he was a fine one to talk, but Multi wasn't going to stoop to his level.

"So what are you guys doing here?" Jamie asked, pulling a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket.

"Picking up some guitar strings," Fluey said, taking a couple of steps away from Jamie. He couldn't stand the smell of cigarette smoke. Multi and Coiley backed away as well.

"Does my smoking bother you?" Jamie asked, knowing darn well it did.

"Don't you know smoking's hazardous to your health, Jamie?" Coiley asked.

"So what?" Jamie shrugged. "It gives me something to do. Life in this town is drag city, man! You three have it easy. You're famous, you've got a cool car, you get to travel the globe, and you don't have to go to school!"

"Trust me, Jamie, you wouldn't want our life," Multi said. "It's not as fantastic and glamorous as you may think. We get mobbed by teenage girls frequently, we hardly ever get to see our families, we're almost always up against life or death situations, and we're always on call twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, even if we _are_ on vacation."

"That, and we were kicked out of school for blowing up the chemistry lab which gave us our powers in the first place," Fluey pointed out.

"Eh, so what?" Jamie said. "You guys still don't have to deal with dumb stuff like I do. Stuck in the same old routine day in and day out. Having to go to school, baby-sitting twerpy siblings, and having your parents breathe down your neck! Let me tell you, Fluey, you're lucky you never had to put up with all that parental crud like the rest of us! Orphans like you have it made!"

Fluey was seeing red by this point. Jamie had just stepped over that fine line. Coiley and Multi knew it, and they managed to stop Fluey before he clobbered Jamie. Before anything else could happen, the boys were approached by a man who appeared to be in his mid twenties, carrying a stack of flyers.

"Good morning, boys," he said. "Any reason you're here instead of school?"

"Long story with the three of us," Multi said, eyeing this guy suspiciously.

"Who needs school?" Jamie replied, lighting his cigarette. "It's such a drag! Let me tell you something, my life is such a bore!"

"Feeling troubled, are we?" the man asked, and he handed one of his flyers to the boys. "I represent an organization called the Lost Boys."

Coiley took the flyer, and he, Multi, and Fluey looked at it:

_Feeling Troubled? Need Someone to Talk To? On the Run with Nowhere to Go? We Can Help! The Lost Boys is a non-profit organization that gives troubled teen boys a chance to start over. We offer food, shelter, and counseling for those who feel lost._

"If you boys are having trouble in your lives, feel free to visit our facility," the man said.

"Yeah, right, sure," Fluey said, rolling his eyes. "Come on, fellas, let's split. We've got guitar strings to pick up."

"Right," Coiley said, folding up the flyer and sticking it in his pocket. He, and Multi and Fluey, were suspicious about this organization, so he figured he'd hold onto the flyer, for future reference.

"See you around, Jamie," Multi said.

"Whatever," Jamie said, waving the Impossibles off. The man smiled, and handed Jamie a flyer.

"You sound like you could use a change of pace," he said. "You do yourself a favor and think about this."

Jamie took the flyer and looked at it. Then he shrugged and walked off.


	3. JimBob Freep

The Impossibles drove into headquarters shortly after picking up the guitar strings. Once they were inside, they went down to the SSHQ labs, where the top inventor, Reggie Johnson, usually hung out. They found Dr. Phelps down there as well. He usually hung out in the lab and helped Reggie and the rest of the science team take things apart, and put them back together again, when he wasn't patching up injured agents or like that.

"Hi, fellas," Reggie said, when he saw Skittles and the boys come in. Skittles barked happily, and trotted over to Reggie, like a pony. Reggie picked her up, and scratched her ears.

"What's new in the chem lab, Reg?" Fluey asked.

"Not much," Reggie shrugged. "We're working on replicating that silent explosive formula your father developed, but so far, we haven't had much success."

"That's my dad's formulas," Fluey said. "They usually blew up in his face at least ten times before he managed to perfect them."

"We're just thankful this building is made up of an indestructible titanium steel alloy component," Dr. Phelps replied. "And this room is reinforced."

"By the way, doc," Fluey said, "we ran into Jamie at the mall about ten minutes before we got here. Do you know he skips school and smokes?"

"Yes, I'm aware of his habits," Dr. Phelps sighed. "Unfortunately, there isn't much I can do about it. The more I try to discipline him about it, the more he does it."

"That's teenagers for you," Reggie shrugged.

There wasn't much the boys could say to that. A couple of days later, the Impossibles were cruising Megatropolis, when they saw Jamie standing on the front porch of a house, talking to a woman. They saw the woman reach into her purse, give Jamie some money, and then Jamie left.

"What in the world is he up to?" Coiley asked.

"One way to find out," Fluey said. "Hey Jaim! Come here for a sec!"

"What do you guys want?" Jamie asked, walking over to the Impossi-Mobile. He reached toward the middle seat of the car, and began scratching Skittles behind her ears.

"What's up?" Fluey asked.

"The sky, stupid," Jamie responded.

"Leave the rotten jokes to me, Jamie," Fluey said, glaring at him. "I meant what's going on?"

"Nothin' much," Jamie said, passing a can from one hand to the other.

"What's that?" Multi asked.

"This?" Jamie asked, holding up his can. "Well . . . . ."

"Come on, Jaim, give," Fluey said. "What're you doing?"

"Okay, okay," Jamie said. "You guys _must_ know, I'm collecting donations for charity."

"Oh yeah?" Coiley asked. "What charity is it for?"

"The Lost Boys Foundation," Jamie said.

"You mean the place that guy at the mall was talking about the other day?" Fluey asked, giving Jamie a weird look.

"Yeah," Jamie said. "I decided to go check the place out."

"Don't tell me you're interested in it!" Coiley shouted.

"Well . . . ." Jamie said. "I need a change of pace, guys. I can't stand it at home, or at school. My life is boring!"

"I don't know," Multi said. "I've heard about this place, Jamie. The guy who runs it has this Sunday morning television show, and I caught it once. He struck me as kind of fishy."

"He seemed all right to me," Jamie said. "He _listens_ to me! Which is more than I can say for my parents!"

"Have you ever tried talking to them?" Coiley asked.

"Hel_lo_?!" Jamie shouted, and he began gently knocking Coiley on the head with his fist. "Hello? Hello? Anybody home? I just _said_ my parents don't listen to me! Look, I got places to go, people to see, and donations to collect to support the cause."

And with that, Jamie left. The Impossibles looked at each other, and then drove back to HQ as fast as they possibly could. They rode the elevator up to the top floor, and found Big D's secretary, Phyllis Dawson, sitting at her desk, watching a small, portable TV.

"Hey, Phyllis, is the chief in?" Coiley asked.

"He's in the building, but not in his office," Phyllis answered. "He's in a meeting with some of the agents right now. He'll be back soon, though."

"What are you watching?" Fluey asked, glancing at the TV.

"One of those commercials disguised as a TV show," Phyllis commented.

Coiley and Multi walked over to check this out. On the TV was a big, heavy set man, wearing a white suit, and a white Panama hat.

"Mah frayunds," he said, in a heavy southern accent. "Permit me to introduce mahself. Ah am JimBob Freep, and ah run a little ol' non-profit organizay-shee-un called the Lost Boys Foundation. Now, let me tell y'all a little more about mah organization. Mah goal is to haylp troubled adolescent boys. Boys who have run away from home, and feel they don't have anywhere to go. Boys who feel they cayunt turn to their folks for advice. Boys who are tryin' to kick drug and alcohol problems. Mah organizay-shee-un offers food, shelter, and counsellin' to those poor, unfor-too-nate boys who need it the most. Though we_ are_ a non-profit organizay-shee-un, we _do_ appreciate any donay-shee-un you would be willin' to make for our noble cause. For more informay-shee-un on mah organizay-shee-un, or for informay-shee-un on makin' a donay-shee-un, call toll free five-five-five-Lost. And remember, frayunds. All your donay-shee-uns will go directly to help these poor, unfor-too-nate lost souls."

"This guy is a piece of work," Fluey said, turning off Phyllis's TV.

"This guy is definitely a couple of bricks shy of a full load," Coiley said.

"Who's a couple of bricks shy of a full load?" Big D asked, coming back into the office.

"Some character named JimBob Freep," Phyllis said. "We just saw him on TV. He runs this organization called the Lost Boys Foundation."

"Yeah, chief, we think there's something fishy about the place," Multi said.

"I happen to agree," Big D said. "I'm familiar with the Lost Boys Foundation. I've been trying to collect the goods on Freep for a couple of years, but there is a severe lack of evidence in the case."

"Yeah, you can't bust him without getting the goods on him," Fluey said.

"But there's more, chief," Coiley said. "We think Dr. Phelps's son is falling in with this organization."

"Hmmm," Big D said, thinking about the situation at hand. "All right, then. Here's what I want done. Phyllis, I want you to go to this facility of Freep's. Undercover of course."

"I don't think that's going to work, chief," Fluey said. "This place only allows boys in, and Phyllis is a girl."

"Yes, I'm fully aware of that," Big D said. "I know what I'm doing."

"Don't you think you should send one of us to infiltrate the place?" Multi asked.

"No," Big D replied. "JimBob Freep is a very tricky man. He could have you three under his influence in a heartbeat, and you boys wouldn't even know it. I don't want to send you boys into this unless I have to."

The Impossibles glanced at each other, and agreed to lay low, for the time being. Within minutes, Phyllis had her disguise all ready for infiltrating the Lost Boys Foundation facility. She was wearing a long blue trench coat, black pants with a bright multi-colored flower pattern, blue boots, and a pair of large sunglasses. A daisy shaped pin was attached to the lapel of her coat. She had her hair done up in a bun, and was wearing heavy make-up. She carried a small tape recorder, and pushed a button on it.

"Testing, testing, one, two, three," she said. "Am I coming in clear?"

"Crystal," Multi said, from HQ. He, Fluey, and Coiley were monitoring the whole thing. Phyllis's tape recorder was actually a microphone. Her pin had a small video camera hidden inside of it. Both were linked directly to the Impossibles at HQ.

"How about the video?" Phyllis asked. "Are you getting a picture?"

"Yeah," Fluey said. "We've got a picture here. Clear as day."

"Get ready to go in, Phyllis," Coiley said. "And be careful!"


	4. The Inside Scoop

Phyllis adjusted the tiny speaker in her ear, and walked into the facility, and approached a woman sitting at the desk, typing on a typewriter. She looked up and stared at Phyllis oddly.

"May I help you?" she asked.

"Maybe," Phyllis said. "I'm Heather Harper, from _Scoop Magazine_. My editor heard about this organization, and he sent me down to get an inside scoop on what goes on here."

(_my apologies to my sister for Phyllis's alias_)

"Wait one moment, please," the secretary said. She got up, and went to another room.

Phyllis glanced around the lobby. It was pretty empty. Nothing there but the secretary's desk. And everything in the room was white. The walls, the floor, the ceiling, the secretary's desk, the secretary's phone, even the secretary's typewriter! Phyllis hoped the boys were seeing all this. She didn't dare try to ask them any questions at HQ. The secretary might come back in any minute. How would she explain having a conversation with her tape recorder?

A moment later, the secretary returned with JimBob Freep. He walked over to Phyllis, and tipped his hat.

"Good afternoon, ma'am," he said. "Allow me to introduce mahself. Ah am JimBob Freep, head of the Lost Boys Foun-day-shee-un."

"Heather Harper, _Scoop Magazine_," Phyllis said. "I'd like to see the rest of your facility."

"Sorry, ma'am, but ah do not give guided tours of my facility," Freep said.

"Why is that, Mr. Freep?" Phyllis asked. "You wouldn't have anything to hide, would you?"

"And just what kind of a magazine _is _Scoop, Miz Harper?" Freep asked.

"As our name suggests, we get the inside scoop on everything we set out to do. Would you mind answering a few questions, then, Mr. Freep?"

"Well, ah'm always glad to answer quesh-tee-uns for the press. Fiyah when ready."

"I wish I could," Fluey said from HQ. Phyllis ignored him.

"Now, then," she said. "I have seen your commercial, and I noticed that this facility is opened to troubled adolescent boys, and not girls."

"That is core-rect," Freep said.

"Why is that? There are many troubled adolescent girls out there, too."

"Yes, ah am aware of that. Howevuh, there _are_ plenty of places out there that cater to the adolescent young ladies. It's the boys that need a place to go, other than the YMCA, that is. the YMCA doesn't offer the counselin' that I do."

"What exactly does your organization do?"

"We take in troubled adolescent males, give them shelter, give them food, give them counselin', that sort of thing. And there are activities for them to do. Healthy activities. And we help some poor unfor-too-nate souls kick nasty ol' drug habits. We rehabilitate them, because some of these fellers become addicted to them drugs while on the street, and worse yet, some start to drinkin'. Now we can't have that, now can we Miz Harper?"

"No, I guess not. Thank you for your time, Mr. Freep. I'm finished here."

"Any time, any time."

And with that, Phyllis left. She climbed into her car, and drove back to HQ. Big D and the Impossibles were waiting for her.

"Did you find out anything?" Big D asked.

"Not much," Phyllis said, taking off the sunglasses, and then pulling the bobby pins from her hair. "He wouldn't let me go further than the lobby."

"So we're back where we started," Multi sighed.

"It's weird," Phyllis said. "Everything seemed like it was on the up and up, but . . . . somehow, I don't think so."

"Wait a minute!" Coiley shouted. "I just had an idea how we can get some inside information!"

"How?" Fluey asked.

"My kid sister!" Coiley shouted. "She takes an after school ceramics class with Phoebe Phelps every Wednesday."

"How do you know Dr. Phelps's daughter is in that class, Coiley?" Multi asked.

"I saw Dr. Phelps there once when I was picking up Courtney from the class," Coiley said. "Maybe we can get her to talk to Phoebe."

"I highly doubt Phelps's daughter will know anything about this, Coil," Big D said.

"She might be able to point us in the right direction," Coiley said. "After all, we're sure that Jamie Phelps is falling into this guy's crowd."

"You _do_ have a point there, Coil," Big D admitted, pushing his phone toward Coiley. "Go ahead and call your sister."

"Man, I say one of us should go over there," Fluey said, as Coiley dialed his home phone number. "We're bound to get more of the inside scoop about this if . . . ."

"Not yet," Big D interrupted. "As I said before, I don't want the three of you to fall under Freep's sway. He's a tricky one."

"It's all set," Coiley said, hanging up the phone. "Courtney's going to talk to Phoebe tomorrow during their after school program."

"I hope your sister doesn't give your secret away," Big D said. "I'm fully aware your families know your identities."

"Don't worry, chief," Coiley said. "We can trust Courtney. I told her not to mention our crime fighting, or the real reason why we want the info."

"I guess all we can do now is wait," Phyllis said, shrugging.

The next afternoon, the Impossibles were over at Coiley's house, waiting for his ten-year-old sister, Courtney, to come home from her ceramics class.

"What times does she usually get home from this class of hers?" Multi asked.

"Around four or so," Coiley said. "And it's almost four o' clock now."

A few minutes later, the front door opened, and Courtney ran into the room.

"Hi guys!" she shouted, throwing her backpack on the floor. "I talked to Phoebe Phelps like you wanted me to, Coiley."

"Courtney, I've told you a million times not to call us by our code names," Coiley said.

"Sorry, I keep forgetting," Courtney said. "But I didn't tell Phoebe about you guys. All I said to her was that my big brother and his friends were worried about her big brother."

"Were you able to find out anything?" Multi asked.

"Yeah, she said her brother was acting really funny," Courtney said. "And she didn't mean funny ha-ha. She meant funny weird."

"Okay, weird how?" Fluey asked.

"Phoebe said a group of people came to her house two days ago," Courtney continued. "Most of them were teenagers, like her brother and like you guys, and there was this really fat guy wearing a white suit and hat. She said the big fat guy was talking to her brother about giving up material possessions to be better in tune with the simple things in life so he could enjoy them better. Then her brother gave them his stereo system. Phoebe said that was _really_ weird because her brother saved his money for almost three years to buy it."

"That _is_ pretty weird," Multi commented. "I haven't known Jamie all that long, but I _do_ he wouldn't give that stereo system of his up for _any_thing!"

"Phoebe also said he was talking about achieving a higher level of tranquility," Courtney said.

"What in the world does _that_ mean?!" Fluey shouted.

"I dunno," Courtney shrugged. "Phoebe didn't know, either. She just told me what she heard the big fat guy say."

"I don't like the sound of this, fellas," Fluey said. "Time to report to Big D!"

Coiley nodded, grabbed his guitar, and pushed a button on the back of the neck. They gave Big D the information Courtney told them, and Big D instructed them to report to HQ ASAP.

"You gotta let us infiltrate this place, chief!" Fluey shouted.

"I'm beginning to agree with Fluey," Multi said.

"I'm still not sure it's a good idea," Big D said.

"Well, what else can we do?" Coiley asked. "The only way we can find out what's up is to get on the inside."

"Boys, JimBob Freep is a very tricky man," Big D said. "He has a very powerful way of persuading people. He can say just the right thing to make them come over to his side."

"That's what's happened with Jamie Phelps," Multi said.

Big D was about to respond, when Phyllis walked into the office with Dr. Phelps right behind him.

"We hate to interrupt, chief," Phyllis said. "But Dr. Phelps is having a bit of a crisis."

"What is it, Phelps?" Big D asked.

"I got a call from my son about ten minutes ago," Dr. Phelps said. "He told me he was going to be staying at the Lost Boys Foundation facilities. He said this Mr. Freep person told him it was necessary to make this move, in order to achieve harmonial balance with his mind, body, and spirit."

"Are you fellas thinking what I'm thinking?" Multi asked.

"Yeah," Fluey nodded. "Jaim's gone and joined a cult."

"Chief, you've _got _to let us infiltrate this place!" Coiley shouted. "The three of us are the only ones who can do it!"

"Right, you know Freep only takes teenage boys," Fluey said.

"Looks like I don't have much choice," Big D said. "All right. But I'm warning you boys to be _exceedingly_ cautious. As I stated before, Freep is very sneaky. He can have you under his sway in a heartbeat, and you wouldn't even know it until it's too late!"

"Don't worry, chief," Multi said. "We'll be careful."

"Rally ho!" the Impossibles shouted in unison, and they were off.


	5. Infiltration

Around three o' clock the next afternoon, the Impossibles arrived at the Lost Boys Foundation's building. Coiley was wearing a pair of faded blue jeans with mud stains on them that would never come out in the wash, no matter what kind of detergent was used, a white T-shirt full of holes, and a purple jacket that was at least two sizes too small for him. He had also messed up his hair a bit. Multi was wearing a red sweat shirt, with the sleeves cut off, over a white long sleeved T-shirt, and black jeans with a hole in the right knee. He had pulled his hair back in a rubber band for the time being. Fluey was wearing a blue tank top, blue jeans, a ratty old pair of sneakers, a blue baseball cap worn backwards, and an old, beat up green and white New York Jets jacket that had definitely seen better days. The jacket had originally belonged to his birth father, Jack Dawson, who was Phyllis's older brother. Multi and Coiley were a little surprised he was wearing it for this case.

"You guys ready?" Fluey asked, putting on a pair of sunglasses.

"I guess so," Multi said. "I hope we can handle this."

"It's the only way we can figure out what's going on, Multi," Coiley pointed out.

"Right," Fluey said. "Let's hit it."

The boys walked into the building, and approached the secretary. She immediately stood up and smiled.

"Hello, hello!" she shouted. "Welcome to the Lost Boys Foundation! How may I help you?"

"We saw a flyer for this place," Coiley said. "We figured we'd come by and see if we could get some help."

"Of course, of course!" the secretary shouted. She picked up some paper and some pens. "Follow me, please."

The boys followed the secretary into another room, and sat down at a table. The secretary handed them each a form, and a pen.

"Just fill out these forms," she said. "I'll be back in a little while."

Once the secretary left, the boys looked at the forms.

"Registration forms?" Coiley asked.

"Weird," Fluey said. "Well, let's get started."

"Hold it!" Multi shouted, grabbing Fluey's wrist before he could start filling the form out. "I don't think we should use our real names for this."

"Multi's right," Coiley said. "We'd better come up with some aliases."

"Right," Multi said. "Name, age, eye color, hair color, weight, height . . . . ."

"Listen to this one," Fluey said. "Tell us why you've decided to come to us. Sheesh. How corny can ya get?"

"Well, we'd better think of something," Multi said.

"I've got it," Fluey said, and he wrote something down.

The boys finished up their forms, just as the secretary came back in.

"All finished?" she asked.

"Yeah," Coiley said. "All done."

"Great," the secretary said, taking the forms. "Now then, you just wait right here. We'll be with you momentarily."

The secretary took the forms out of the room, walked down the hall, and knocked on a door labeled "JimBob Freep."

"Yes?" Freep asked.

"Three new ones for you, Mr. Freep," the secretary said, coming into the room. "Very disheveled. Very dirty. These kids need help."

"Good, good," Freep said. "What have we got?"

"Well, first, we have a short chubby blond named Manny Martin. According to the form he filled out, he's struggling with people in school about being overweight, and his parents don't understand the trouble he's having."

"One of _those_ types. We get quite a few chubbies dealin' with these weight issues. What else do we have?"

"A Neil Marks. He's the redheaded one. His parents are divorced, and he ran away from home because he hates it there. He always fights with his father."

"Ah see. And the last one?"

"Tony Franklin. And this kid is a _real_ piece of work! No parents, homeless, a drug addict, and an alcohol addict."

"Good thing he came to us when he did. All right. Ah'll go meet 'em. This should be the last of them for the day."

Freep left his office, and walked down the hall to the other room.

"Hello there, boys," he said. "Allow me to introduce mahself. Ah am JimBob Freep, head of the Lost Boys Foun-day-shee-un. Now, I understand you fellers are havin' yourselves a little ol' problem. Nowhere to go, no one to turn to. Well you've come to the right place. Now if you'll just follow me . . . ."

"Where are we going?" Multi asked, as he, Coiley, and Fluey followed Freep down the hallway and out the back door. Outside was a large bus, and there were several teenage boys aboard it.

"See, fellers, this is just mah adminnie-stray-shee-un office," Freep said. "Ah have a much bigger facility for housin' and like that there. Climb aboard and we'll be on our way as soon as ah get back."

The boys boarded the bus, and Freep went back into his administration office. He returned ten minutes later, and climbed aboard. The bus pulled out, and started driving off.

"I wonder where we're heading?" Multi asked.

"I don't know," Fluey said. "But something's telling me it's not gonna be easy to get the goods on this guy!"

Multi and Coiley happened to agree. They also hoped the signal on Fluey's wrist communicator wouldn't go out. They couldn't Coiley's or Multi's guitars to contact Big D. It would have been too much trouble, especially since they found out Freep was talking these boys into giving up their material possessions.

After four hours of driving without a break, the bus stopped in what the Impossibles figured was the middle of nowhere. A chain link fenced topped with barbed wire enclosing several buildings was the only thing around. The bus drove through the front gates, and the boys got off the bus. Freep followed.

"All righty, boys!" he shouted. "This is the oh-fish-ee-all headquarters of the Lost Boys Foun-day-shee-un."

"Looks more like an army camp to me," Fluey muttered to Multi.

"Shhh," Multi hissed.

"Now then," Freep continued. "If y'all will kindly come to the main buildin', we'll get y'all settled in no time atall."

Every last one of the boys that were on the bus followed Freep into the center building, which was the largest of the five. Within moments, all the boys were divided into four lines. One had a sign that said "A-F." Another was "G-K." A third was "M-S." And finally, "T-Z." The boys stood in their appropriate lines, and gave the person sitting at the table their name. Then the boys were given a colored, plastic wristband (like the kind they give you at amusement parks). The wrist band had each boy's name on it. The color represented the building they were assigned to. Once the Impossibles were assigned, they regrouped, and their spirits fell. Coiley's wrist band was blue, Multi's was red, and Fluey's was green. That meant they were in different buildings entirely.

"Oh great," Fluey groaned. "They split us up."

"Maybe it's just as well," Multi said. "We can cover more ground that way."

"Right, but we'd better get used to calling ourselves by our assumed names," Coiley said. "Just in case."

"Good idea," Multi said. "From this point forward, we're Manny Martin, Neil Marks, and . . . . . I don't know yours, Fluey. You were in a different line than we were."

"Tony Franklin," Fluey said. Multi and Coiley stared at him as if he were completely nuts. Fluey absolutely _hated_ to be referred to by his birth name (which was Anthony Manikatti).

"Why'd you choose _that_?" Coiley asked. "You're ready to kill anyone who calls you Tony!"

"I know, I know," Fluey said. "And most people know it, which is why it works great. No one's gonna suspect it!"

Coiley and Multi had to agree with that. Once the boys got their room assignments, they separated towards one of the four smaller buildings. One was red, one was blue, one was yellow, and one was green. Fluey walked into the green building, and looked around. It was pretty much just a large cabin with several camp style bunk beds in it.

"Welcome to the green sector," a man wearing a green T-shirt and blue jeans said. "I'm Justin, and I'm head counselor of the green sector. Just find yourself a bunk and make yourself at home!"

_Yeah right,_ Fluey thought, but didn't say out loud. He just walked to a bunk that was close to the front door of the building, and pushed himself up to the upper one, for the time being (no ladders, either).

"Okay, boys," Justin said, as he was leaving. "Tomorrow, you've got a full day ahead of you. Just check the bulletin board next to the blue building. See you all in the morning. Lights out at eight."

"Eight?" Fluey repeated. "You gotta be kidding! Who goes to bed at eight o' clock?!"

"Rules are rules," Justin shrugged. "I don't make them, I just enforce them. And Mr. Freep says lights out at eight."

And with that, Justin left the building. Fluey looked at his wrist communicator (which had a built-in watch). It was about seven thirty. There wasn't much he could do now.

A bugle playing reveille blared out of the PA system the next morning. Fluey was so startled, he bolted to attention, and forgot for a moment he was on the top bunk, and fell to the floor.

WHAM!

Over in the red building, the bugle call woke Multi up with a start, and he ended up banging his head on the bottom of the top bunk the minute he bolted to attention.

WHACK!

Coiley hadn't fared much better in the blue building, either. The bugle call startled him as well, and like Fluey, he rolled off his bunk. However, unlike Fluey, Coiley was on the bottom bunk, so he didn't crash as hard as Fluey had.

All of the boys filed out of their "cabins," all groggy and grumbling. The sun was barely up!

"Hey, anybody got a watch?" one of the boys asked. "What time is it?"

"About five thirty in the morning," Fluey said, with a yawn. Much groaning ensued. Within minutes, Freep came out of another building.

"Up and at 'em, boys!" he shouted. "We've got a full day ahead of us!"

"Bedtime at eight o' clock, waking up at the crack of dawn . . . . ." Multi groaned.

"Welcome to boot camp," Coiley said, stifling a yawn.

"All right, boys!" Freep shouted. "Time to hit the showers!"

The boys followed Freep to another building. The building featured at least ten shower heads, all in one room, like a high school locker room shower.

"Not much privacy in here, I can tell ya that," Fluey commented.

As the boys walked into the shower, they were handed what looked like white karate outfits, and a pair of sandals.

"What are these for?" Coiley asked Freep.

"Unie-forms," Freep answered. "It will help you boys start free-esh. I'm gonna donate all your old things to charity. Just go change into those, and put all your old things in the box at the end of the hall."

Coiley shrugged, and he, Multi, and Fluey changed, though Fluey kept his communicator on his wrist, and tied his jacket around his waist. He put the rest of the clothes in the box as Freep indicated and was about to leave, when a man wearing a yellow T-shirt (obviously part of the yellow sector), grabbed his arm.

"Hold it, son," he said. "Mr. Freep says you need to give all your old things to us for charity. You can hold onto your watch, but the jacket has got to go."

"I'd rather hold onto it if it's all right with you," Fluey said.

"Rules are rules, son," the man said. "You have to give up everything from your past so you'll be better in tune to start fresh. Now put the jacket in the box."

"No. I'm keeping it."

"Now, now, don't be difficult. Just give me that jacket and . . . . ."

"I told you I'm not gonna give up my jacket!"

The man then untied the jacket, and pulled it away from Fluey, but he grabbed it back. It was practically a tug of war. It ended when Freep walked by.

"Now what in tar-nay-shee-un is goin' on over here?!" he shouted.

"I told him we needed his jacket, and he simply refused to give it up," the man said.

"Now, son, why in the world would you wanna hold on to that ratty ol' thing for, anyhow?" Freep asked. "We wouldn't even be able to give it to charity. All it's good for is the trash heap!"

"Because it was my dad's, and it's the only thing I have of him!" Fluey yelled, glaring at Freep. "He died before I was even born!"

"Ah see," Freep said. "Ah can see why you wanna hold onto that ol' jacket. There must be a lot of sentimental value to it. But you just cayunt move ahead with your life if you insist on hangin' on to the past, now, can you, son?"

"Says who?" Fluey asked.

"Son, if I let you hang onto that thing, I'll have to let _all_ the boys hang on to their past things, and then no one will ever move forward in their lives here!"

"So what? You just can't get rid of people's memories like they were nothing but yesterday's garbage!"

"Hmmm . . . . ."

Freep looked at Fluey thoughtfully. He could tell he was going to have trouble with _this_ one.

"All right," he continued. "You don't have to give it to charity . . . . . if you insist."

"As a matter of fact, I do," Fluey said.

"Very well, then," Freep said, grabbing the jacket from Fluey.

"Hey!" Fluey shouted.

"I'll just keep this in mah office," Freep said. "We won't give it to charity, but I cayunt have you luggin' it around."

Fluey groaned, and stormed off. Freep shook his head, and tossed Fluey's jacket into the box with the rest of the clothes to be given to charity.

"Who was that young upstart, anyway?" he asked.

"Tony Franklin," the man in the yellow shirt said.

"Tony Franklin," Freep repeated. "Better keep a close eye on him. Somethin's tellin' me that boy ain't gonna be nothin' but trouble."


	6. Don't Drink the Kool Aid

Once the boys were through showering (which took a good hour, considering there were only ten shower heads and at least a hundred or so boys), they were all supposed to report to the dining hall, which was a building in between the yellow and green sectors. Inside, there was a line similar to a high school cafeteria line, including a cafeteria lady with a hair net.

"Sheesh," Fluey said, getting a load of the sour look on her face. "Dig the chick in the hair net, fellas."

"She kind of reminds me of Mrs. Dousseldorfer," Coiley commented. Mrs. Dousseldorfer was the Megatropolis High School's lunch lady.

"Only I think Mrs. Dousseldorfer looked meaner," Multi replied. Fluey and Coiley had to agree on that one.

The cafeteria lady was using an ice cream scoop to spoon some sort of mush into a bowl.

SPLAT!

"Yeecchh," Coiley groaned, as some of it splattered onto his face. "Even the food in the school cafeteria looked more appetizing than this."

"I think my sister's cooking would be more appetizing than this," Multi said. That was saying a lot, considering his older sister, Windy, couldn't cook to save her life. She could even ruin cereal!

"Hospital food, cafeteria food, airplane food, _and_ your sister's cooking, Multi, would be more appetizing," Fluey said.

"You win," Coiley said. The boys then were given cups filled with purple liquid, and they went to a table. The tables were just like those in the school cafeteria.

"What is this? Grape juice?" Multi asked.

"I think it might be grape Kool-Aid," Coiley said, sniffing at the glass. "That's what it smells like."

"Kool-Aid?" Fluey repeated. "Sheesh, what are we? Five years old? Oh well. When in Rome . . . ."

Fluey picked up his glass and took a sip. But he winded up choking on it. He immediately spat it back into the glass and coughed.

"Yuck!" he yelled. "Oooh man, that stuff's _ter_rible!"

Multi and Coiley also took a sip, and gagged as well. The other boys seemed to be drinking this stuff with no problems whatsoever.

"You guys just have to get used to it," one of the other boys said.

"Yeah, I thought it was a little gross the first time I tried it," another replied. "But you'll get used to it after awhile."

"Besides," a third said, "you'd _better_ get used to it! It's all they ever give us around here. Breakfast and dinner, we always have grape Kool-Aid."

"What about lunch?" Multi asked.

"It's just breakfast and dinner," the first boy said.

The Impossibles looked at each other, not sure what to think. But they didn't dwell on it. After breakfast, it was time for each of the four sectors to go to a specific activity. The red sector was going to spend the day in the main building meditating, trying to "get in tune with one's mind, body, and soul." Multi was not looking forward to that. He had a hippie uncle on his dad's side of the family that often meditated and whenever he visited, he smelled like incense. The blue sector (which was filled with overweight boys) were to report to the gym. Freep wanted them to work on losing weight. The green sector was to work out in the vegetable garden, pulling weeds, planting seeds, etc. The yellow sector was going to sort through the "charity donations."

Coiley followed the other boys from the blue sector to the gymnasium. Inside was an obstacle course of sorts. It looked like something he saw in an army base the singing Impossibles were playing at once. As he, and the other boys were looking at what was involved, a shrill whistle blew, and in came a huge muscle bound man in a blue sweat suit and a baseball cap that read "coach."

"All right, you flabby, fatty, chubbos!" he shouted. "It's my job to see that you lose all that sloppy fat on you!"

"Ho boy," Coiley muttered under his breath.

"We're gonna start with a hundred push ups on my count!" the coach shouted, blowing his whistle again. "GO!"

All of the boys quickly began their push ups, though a lot of them were having a hard time with it. Coiley turned to the boy next to him, who was extremely obese.

"Hey," he said. "Does this sort of thing go on all the time here?"

"Pretty much," the other boy said, breathlessly. "Usually . . . . . after a hundred push ups . . . . . it's a hundred sit ups . . . . . then it's jumping jacks . . . . . and then it's the obstacle course. And if coach doesn't think your time on that is good . . . . he makes you do it again . . . . . until he's satisfied!"

"You're kidding," Coiley said.

"No . . . . I'm not," the boy said. "But . . . . that's okay."

"Why?"

"Because . . . . it's a great way . . . . . to lose weight! I'm trying . . . . . to lose at least . . . . . two hundred pounds . . . . . so people don't . . . . . call me 'Walrus' . . . . anymore."

_FWEEEEET!_

"That's enough chatter, Walrus!" the coach shouted. Then he turned to Coiley. "And as for you, Chubby, make it two hundred push ups! Double time!"

"Yes sir!" Coiley shouted, and began double timing his push ups.

Meanwhile, Multi was sitting cross-legged on the floor in one of the rooms of the main building with some of the other boys from his sector. Incense was burning as the boys meditated. Multi wished he had a clothespin or something to hold his nose shut. This was some pretty strong incense, and it was making him feel sick to his stomach.

"Breathe deeply," one of the boys instructed. "Mr. Freep says meditation will allow the mind, body, and spirit to become tranquil."

The boys inhaled, and Multi choked on the incense, resulting in a coughing fit.

"Don't worry, Neil," a boy named Marco said. "You'll get used to the incense. I think you just breathed a little _too_ deeply."

"Mr. Freep didn't really strike me as the spiritual type," Multi said, pounding on his chest with his fist for the moment.

"He really isn't. He just has us meditate from time to time to relax our minds, bodies, and spirits. It helps us achieve harmonial balance within ourselves so we can be better in tune with our future lives."

"I don't know, it all seems kind of fishy to me."

"It did to me, too, at first. Then, the more I got into it, the more I realized I was letting my troubles with my family take over my life. Once I started meditating, all my troubles just seemed to have disappeared. This helps you get in touch with your soul and become one with nature."

"Very Zen, Marco. Very Zen."

Multi rolled his eyes, and then closed them, along with the other boys. When he heard some of them chanting "ohhhmmmm" under their breaths, he opened one eye, and looked around. The incense seemed to be burning thicker, heavier, and stronger. Multi could barely breathe.

_I'm getting out of here before I smother! _he thought, and slowly made his way out of the room, and coughed a little.

"What are you doing out here?" one of the staff members asked.

"Uhhh, the incense in there was bothering my sinuses," Multi said. "My allergies are very sensitive."

The staff member seemed to be satisfied with that, and left. Multi heaved a sigh of relief.

Out in the garden, Fluey was yanking weeds out of the ground. Or at least trying to. Some of these weeds were particularly stubborn.

"I don't get why we just can't use weed killer on these things," he said, straining to lift a particularly stubborn weed.

"Mr. Freep says that doesn't build character," one of the other boys replied.

"I gotta tell you, though, he's really weird."

"Oh, I don't think so."

"Well, I do. I haven't had an eigh o' clock bedtime since I was seven years old! And having to get up at the crack of dawn?"

"You know that old adage, Tone. Early to bed and early to rise and all."

"And what's with getting grape Kool-Aid at every meal? What's he put in it? That stuff'll take the paint off the walls!"

"You're in bad shape, my friend. You need to relax."

"Relax my foot. Something fishy's going on around here."

"Attention please!" a voice over the PA system shouted. "Will Walter Reynolds please come to Mr. Freep's office for a special one-on-one counseling session!"

"Now what's _that_ about?" Fluey asked.

"Oh," the other boy said. "Mr. Freep calls some of the guys in for these one-on-one counseling things. They can be in there for at least an hour or so."

"What goes on during these sessions?"

"Beats me, I've never been in for one. You might want to ask Pete. He's been in for a couple."

"I think I will."

Fluey abandoned the weed pulling for the moment, and walked over to a boy with a brown buzz cut running a hoe across a patch of dirt.

"Hey, Pete, I want to talk to you," he said.

"Sure, Tony," Pete said. "What's on your mind?"

"What goes on during these one-on-one counseling sessions of Freep's anyway?"

"Uhh, gee, Tony . . . . I, uhhh, umm . . . . what . . . . what makes you think I would know?"

"I asked Billy about them, and he said you've been in for a couple."

"Oh. Well, see, Tony . . . . . I . . . . errrmmm . . . . . see . . . . we're not really supposed to talk about that."

"Why not?"

"Mr. Freep says disrupt the balance with our spiritual guidance."

"Look, Pete, you can trust me. I won't tell anyone what goes on."

"Well . . . . ."

That was when Fluey noticed something about Pete. His teeth were purple. Completely purple.

"Hey, what the heck's up with your teeth?" he asked.

"Oh that," Pete said. "It's the Kool-Aid. Mr. Freep doesn't let us drink anything but grape Kool-Aid around here."

"How long have you been here?"

"Almost a year."

"Figures. Do you think he might be putting something in that Kool-Aid? It tastes pretty bad to me."

"No. I'm sure of it. Why would Mr. Freep put something in the Kool-Aid?"

_I don't know, but I'll find out, _Fluey thought. He was about to ask Pete another question about these counseling sessions, when he realized he was being watched, by none other than Jamie Phelps.

"Uh oh," Fluey said. He hadn't realized Jamie was in his sector.

"What's the matter?" Pete asked.

"Nothing," Fluey said. "Thanks for the info, Pete. Better get back to work."

And with that, Fluey went back to the weeds. He had to avoid Jamie at all costs.

Around five o' clock that evening, the bugle came over the PA system again, only this time, it was playing the mess call. The boys went into the dining room for another round of mush and grape Kool-Aid. The Impossibles were completely exhausted.

"Man, now I think I know why he makes us go to bed at eight," Fluey groaned.

"Yeah," Coiley said. "I can barely keep my eyes open. That obstacle course was tough. I must've run it at least twenty times today."

"I don't think I'll ever smell anything but incense ever again," Multi said.

"It's really weird," Fluey said. "Boys come into this place to get away from nagging parents telling them to get up early, go to bed early, do their chores, stuff like that, and Freep's giving them stuff like that to do, and they're okay with it!"

"So what do you think's going on, Fluey?" Coiley asked.

"I don't know for sure," Fluey said. "But whatever you guys do, don't drink the Kool-Aid."

Multi and Coiley agreed on that one.

After dinner, the boys began filing back to their "cabins." Fluey ducked around the corner, and hid in the shadows for the moment, and activated his communicator.

"Fluid Man calling Big D," he said. "Can you read me, chief?"

"I read you, Fluid," Big D said, coming onto the screen. "Have you three found anything yet?"

"Not much, but something fishy is going on. We'll try to get to the bottom of this as soon as we can, chief."

"I hope so. I don't like the thought of you boys being there."

"We'll be careful, chief. Over and out."

Fluey turned off his communicator, and went for the "cabin," when he literally ran into Jamie.

"Ooof!" he shouted. "Oh . . . . uhhh, hi."

"Tony Franklin, huh?" Jamie said. "You're not fooling me one minute, Fluey."

"What?" Fluey asked, playing dumb. "I don't know what you're . . . . ."

"Don't try to hide it. I know a Secret Security Headquarters gadget when I see it!"

"What? My watch?"

"Pretty high tech watch, isn't it?"

"Well . . . ."

"Where'd you get it, then?"

"Fifty cents and seventy-five box tops at the supermarket. They were doing a Secret Squirrel promotion thing. I dig the spy genre, you know?"

"How'd a homeless kid like you get seventy-five box tops?"

"Ever hear of dumpster diving?"

Jamie gave Fluey a weird look, and then walked off. Fluey went back to the "cabin." He didn't think Jamie bought that story. He was going to have to tell the others about this one.

Jamie, in the meantime, went to the main building, and knocked on Freep's office door.

"Come in," Freep said. He saw Jamie enter, and he looked at him weirdly. "What are you doin' here this time of night? Mah rules clearly state all you boys head back to the housin' buildin's when you got through with dinner."

"I know, Mr. Freep," Jamie said. "But . . . . well, we've got a situation here."

"What's that, son?"

"Tony Franklin."

"What about him?"

"Well, he was talking to Billy Carlisle and Pete Forbes today. I heard him asking about your one-on-one counseling sessions, and then I saw him talking to his watch about five minutes ago."

"Talkin' to his watch?"

"Yeah, see . . . . I don't think he's really who he claims to be. I'm certain he's one of the Impossibles. They work with my dad at the Secret Security Headquarters. They probably sent him down here to spy on you."

"Ah knew that Tony Franklin kid would be trouble. Tell me everything you know, Jamie!"

Jamie began telling Freep everything he knew. The next morning, Fluey met with Coiley and Multi at breakfast, and told them what was up.

"I've got the hardest part in this," Fluey said. "He's in the same sector as I am."

"Oh boy," Multi groaned. "This is going to be harder than I thought."

"Attention please!" a voice over the PA system called out. "Will Tony Franklin report to Mr. Freep's office immediately!"

"Uh oh," Fluey said. "Looks like I'm gonna find out what goes on during these counseling sessions."

"Be careful, Fluey," Coiley said.

"Don't worry, I will," Fluey said, and he got up and walked over to the main building. He walked into Freep's office, and saw him stirring a large pitcher of grape Kool-Aid.

"You wanted to see me, Mr. Cree . . . . I mean Freep?" he said.

"Yeah, ah did, Tony," Freep said, pouring the Kool-Aid into a glass. "Come on in and sit down."

Fluey walked into the room, and sat down. Freep walked over to his office door and closed it. Fluey took a moment to glance around for anything suspicious on Freep's desk. He saw some sort of white powder by the pitcher, but he couldn't quite tell what it was, except maybe something Freep put into the Kool-Aid.

_Drugged Kool-Aid?_ he thought. _Now I've seen everything!_

"Have some Kool-Aid, Tony," Freep said, walking back to his desk, and pushing the glass toward Fluey.

"No thanks," Fluey said. "I'm not thirsty. What did you want to see me about, anyway?"

"Tony, I've gotten some reports that you were askin' a lot of quesh-tee-uns yesterday. Ain't wise to ask so many quesh-tee-uns, you know. Could be dangerous."

"Right. Sure. Thanks for the warning."

Fluey got up, and walked toward the door. He grabbed the knob and tried to turn it, but it wouldn't budge.

"Huh?" he said. "Locked? But . . . ."

"You ain't goin' no place, Fluid Man!" Freep said, with a sinister cackle.

"Huh?!" Fluey shouted, as he backed up against the door. Without his powers, he was unable to escape. "How . . . . how did you . . . . ."

"Ah have mah ways," Freep said, grabbing the dark-haired teen by his arm. "Maybe this'll teach you a little ol' lesson about pokin' your nose where it don't belong!"


	7. The Mad Man with the Mad Plan

It had been an hour since Fluey had left for Freep's office. Multi and Coiley were wondering what in the world was taking him so long.

"Maybe we'd better go into Freep's office and check on him," Coiley suggested.

"Good idea," Multi agreed. "Lets go."

The two Impossibles went to the main building, and knocked on Freep's office door.

"Come in," he said. He looked up when he saw Coiley and Multi come in. "Howdy there, boys, what can ah do you for?"

"We're wondering where Tony is," Multi said. "I mean, you called him in here over an hour ago, and we haven't seen him since."

"Oh, he's out on a . . . . . _special_ assignment," Freep said. "Ah'm afraid he'll be a bit . . . . _tied up_ with it for quite some time."

"Oh," Coiley said, and he and Multi glanced at each other, suspiciously. They weren't buying it.

"Actually, ah'm glad you fellers are here," Freep said. "Ah need a couple of volunteers to go into town and drop the donations box down at the Megatropolis Homeless Shelter. The box is already on mah bus."

"Sure," Multi said. "No problem at all."

"Much obliged, boys," Freep said, and Coiley and Multi left.

"Why'd you agree to this, Multi?" Coiley asked.

"It will give us a chance to get back to HQ," Multi said. "I want Dr. Phelps to take a look at this Kool-Aid."

"But what about Fluey?"

"We'll come back here once we have reinforcements. Freep's up to something, I'm sure of it."

Coiley agreed. As a matter of fact, he _was_ up to something. Jamie had figured since one of the Impossibles was there, the other two must have been as well. Freep sent Jamie snooping to find them, and when he did, he reported to Freep. He knew sending Multi and Coiley back to Megatropolis was risky, as he knew they were just going to inform the SSHQ about him, but since it was a four hour drive to and from the Lost Boys Foundation facility, it would give Freep plenty of time. Once Multi and Coiley left the office, Freep walked over to his coat closet, and opened the door. It was where he was keeping Fluey for the time being. He was sitting on the floor of the closet, hands taped behind his back, ankles taped together, and his mouth taped shut with duct tape. Freep merely smirked.

"Yes, you're gonna be tied up for quite some time," he said, and ripped the piece of tape off his mouth.

"Ow!" Fluey yelled. "Hey, watch it, will ya?!"

"Sorry, son," Freep said. "But you should learn to mind your own business."

"Bringing creeps like you to justice _is_ my business. Dr. Phelps is a friend of mine, and I'm not gonna let you brainwash his son, or any of the other guys here!"

"We'll see about that, son. We'll just see about that."

Fluey began trying to maneuver his hands out of the tape. That wasn't going to be easy. Freep laughed, and took a bottle out of his desk drawer, and poured it's contents onto a handkerchief.

"Ah have a little surprise for you and the rest of the boys," he said.

"What kind of surprise?" Fluey asked.

"We're all goin' on a little ol' trip. I'm takin' y'all down to South America for a special . . . . . soul cleansin'."

"I really don't like the sound of that. What's involved in this so called soul cleansing?"

"Ah'm glad you asked. You see, I'm giving the boys a bit of a vacation, in the deepest jungles of South America, you see. Then, ah'm gonna give them all some of mah _special_ Kool-Aid."

"What's so special about it? You've obviously put some kinda drug in it already."

"True, but what ah'm plannin' on puttin' in mah _special_ Kool-Aid is much stronger than what ah put in it normally."

"Why's that?"

"That's for me to know, and for the boys to find out. Let's just say that they won't ever have to worry about their troubles ever again. This little vacation, if you will, is gonna be a permanent vacation."

Fluey thought that one over. Then it suddenly hit him. If Freep was taking these boys on a "permanent vacation," resulting in them never worrying about their troubles again, it could only mean one thing.

"You're gonna _kill_ them?!" Fluey shouted. "You mean to tell me you're gonna put something in the Kool-Aid that'll kill these kids?!"

"You catch on quick, Fluid Man," Freep said with a laugh. "Yes, it's a messy job, but, hey, it's one step closer to spiritual enlightenment for these boys."

"You're insane. You're completely out of your mind!"

"It's all in how you look at it. Ah look at it as givin' these boys a way of escapin' their troubles forever."

"And I look at it as a plot for _murder! _You won't get away with it!"

"Oh yes ah will. And now that you know what ah'm up to, you're gonna have to be silenced. And you'll be the first to go, but not by mah soul cleansin'. You, mah nosy little frayund, have had the unfortunate for-choon to be possessed by evil spirits, and the only way to get rid of these evil spirits is to offer you up as a human sacrifice."

"What?! Wait a minute here, you can't . . . ."

But before Fluey could finish his sentence, Freep pressed his handkerchief over his face. It had been doused with chloroform. Fluey fought against it, but unconsciousness quickly over came him. Just then, Jamie came into the room, as Freep tore another piece of duct tape off the roll, and pressed it over Fluey's mouth.

"You wanted to see me, Mr. Freep?" he asked.

"Ah did, Jamie," Freep said. "Do me a little favor and help me get our little friend here out to the plane. Grab his legs."

"Uhh . . . ." Jamie said, a little hesitantly, but he lifted Fluey's legs anyway, while Freep lifted Fluey by the arms. "Okay, but why have you got him taped up like this?"

"It's for his own good," Freep said. "Ah've found out, in mah little chat with him this mornin', that he's been possessed by evil."

"You're kidding."

"No, son, ah swear it's the truth. Now, all of us are goin' on a little ol' plane ride down to South America."

"What are we going there for?"

"Because the conditions here are not adequate to cure this poor boy. We must dispel the evil spirits, and the only way to do that is in South America."

"How come?"

"Ah cayunt explain now. We'll have to wait until we get down to South America."

"Okay, I guess. But why is tying him up like this with duct tape for his own good?"

"The poor child was rantin' and ravin' like a lunatic. I had to restrain him before he went and hurt himself."

"Yeah, that makes sense."

Freep smiled sinisterly. He was pleased that Jamie bought his story. He and Jamie walked to the cargo hold of a large airplane that had the Lost Boys Foundation logo painted on it. Once they were inside, they dropped Fluey into a large crate.

"This ought to hold him," Freep said. "Now, then, Jamie. Let's you and me gather up the rest of the boys, and get aboard. We're in for a great adventure."

"Hey, cool!" Jamie shouted, and he ran off to help Freep spread the word about the trip to South America.

Meanwhile, in Megatropolis, Coiley and Multi got off the bus with the box of "donations," and took it to the SSHQ. They immediately went up to Big D's office, where not only the chief, but Phyllis, Reggie, Dr. Phelps, and Skittles were waiting for them. Skittles whimpered, and jumped into Multi's arms, not going at her super speed this time. She didn't want to knock him over now.

"Where's Fluey?" Phyllis asked.

"Still out there in the middle of nowhere," Coiley said. "He got called into Freep's office for a talk, and he never came out."

"He said he was on a 'special assignment,' but we don't buy it," Multi said. "Then he sent Coiley and me back here to drop off donations, which is basically just clothes from the boys. We hated leaving him there like that, but this was our only chance to get back here. We need you to analyze this Kool-Aid, Dr. Phelps."

Multi handed Dr. Phelps a canteen full of the grape Kool-Aid.

"We need to know what's in it," Coiley said. "Fluey thought Freep might be putting something weird in it."

"Come on, Reggie," Dr. Phelps said. "Let's take this down to the lab."

"Tell me about Freep's facility, boys," Big D said.

Multi and Coiley sat down, and began explaining everything they knew: filling out the forms, the four hour bus ride, the chain linked, barbed wired fence, the colored sectors, the uniforms, the Kool-Aid, the meditation, and the obstacle course.

"He also has these one-on-one counseling sessions, but I don't think I want to know what those are about," Multi said.

"I don't think I want to know, either," Big D admitted. Skittles began whining, and she started pawing at Multi.

"I know, girl," Multi said, stroking his puppy's back. "It's gonna be okay."

"Chief, I'm getting a bad feeling about that place," Phyllis said. "Especially if Fluey's still there."

"Yeah, he said Jamie Phelps might have recognized him," Coiley said.

"You don't think Jamie told Freep, do you?" Multi asked.

"He might have," Phyllis said, turning to Big D. Big D just sat there silently for several moments. It was clear that he was thinking about something.

"Chief, maybe you should try calling him," Coiley suggested.

"Too risky," Big D said. "We have to think of how to . . . . ."

"Chief! Chief!" Reggie shouted suddenly, as he and Dr. Phelps ran into the office. They both looked extremely panicked.

"What's wrong, Johnson?" Big D asked.

"You're not going to believe what we found in the Kool-Aid Multi gave us!" Reggie shouted.

"A powerful tropane alkaloid," Dr. Phelps said. "A form of hallucinogen. Most people who take this type of drug are usually in a bit of a trance of sorts, like they're awake, but they aren't. And people in this state are easily manipulated."

"To put it in English," Reggie said. "It's a form of mind control."

"And you two are saying that _all _the boys were drinking this laced Kool-Aid?" Big D asked Multi and Coiley.

"Everyone but the three of us," Multi said.

"Chief, seriously . . . . ." Phyllis began.

"I know," Big D said, standing up. "Phyllis, alert Sectors Three and Four, and tell them to be ready for take off in ten minutes. Get Agent Robertson up there as well, and make sure he has his camera. Also alert Agent Kelley and let him know he's in charge until further notice."

"What do you mean, chief?" Coiley asked.

"I'm going down there," Big D said. "Do I have any other volunteers?"

"Me," Dr. Phelps said. "If my son is involved in this, there's no way I'm staying here!"

"Count me in," Reggie said. He was always up for a little excitement.

"I'm volunteering, too," Phyllis said.

"Phyllis, we've been through this," Big D sighed.

"We don't have time for this," Phyllis pointed out. "We have to act fast!"

"She's right, chief," Multi said.

"All right," Big D said, giving up. "Johnson and Phelps, you two follow me. We'll take out one of the jets and follow Coil and Multi. Phyllis, meet me, Phelps, and Johnson on the landing pad as soon as you alert Robertson, Kelley, and Sectors Three and Four."

"Yes sir," Phyllis said, saluting, and she ran out to her intercom.

"Boys, get to your jet," Big D told Multi and Coiley. "Turn on your tracking systems, on the jet, and your guitars. I'm not taking chances."

"Gotcha, chief!" Coiley shouted, and he, Multi, and Skittles ran to the Impossi-Jet. They had no time to lose.

As the SSHQ personnel was working on getting going, Freep was starting up his own jet.

"Is everyone aboard?" Freep asked.

"Yes Mr. Freep," one of the staff said. "Everyone except Tony Franklin, Neil Marks, and Manny Martin. They seem to have gone AWOL."

"Ah'm not worried about those three. Just as long as ah've got the others on board."

"Well then, sir, everyone is present and accounted for."

"Good. Time for take off!"

Freep started up the plane's engine, and taxied down his make-shift runway. That was the beauty of building his facility in the middle of nowhere. Plenty of space to take off.

"Welcome aboard Freep Airlines," Freep said, a few minutes after take off. "Just sit back and relax, boys. Soon, all your troubles will be over."

Freep turned off his radio then, and smirked. Everything was working out perfectly.

Or so he thought. Fluey began coming to his senses shortly after the take off. He looked around his surroundings, feeling a little disoriented. Then he remembered Freep had told him his diabolical scheme. He had to get out of this mess before it was too late. Unfortunately, he just wasn't able to maneuver his wrists out of the duct tape. It was too strong. But he wasn't going to give up. He had to reach his wrist communicator. He just _had_ to!

_Come on . . . ._ he thought to himself, as he reached his fingers toward the button on his communicator that would activate it's tracking device. _Just a little more . . . . almost . . . . . got it!_

Fluey reached the button, and immediately pressed it. Then he sighed. He could only hope Coiley and Multi would escape, reach the Impossi-Mobile, and be able to track him down before it was too late.


	8. Bail Out

Coiley landed the Impossi-Jet in front of the Lost Boys Foundation's facility. Two more SSHQ jets landed nearby. Phyllis and Big came out of one, and Reggie, Dr. Phelps, and another agent, Mackenzie Robertson (or "Mack" for short) came out of another. Big D took a walkie-talkie like device out of his coat pocket.

"All units remain where you are until further notice," he said. "Circle the area."

"Gotcha, chief!" a voice shouted over Big D's radio.

"This is the place, chief," Multi said.

"Looks kinda empty to me," Reggie commented.

"Let's have a look around," Big D said, and the group walked inside. "Split up and search. Phelps, take the red building. Johnson, the green. Phyllis, the blue. Robertson, the yellow. Coil, you take the gym, and Multi, take your dog and investigate the dining area. I'll take the main building."

"Yes sir!" the agents shouted, saluting. Skittles barked her "yes sir" and saluted herself. Multi clipped a leash to Skittles, and they were off.

Shortly afterward, they regrouped.

"I don't get it," Multi said. "The place is completely deserted!"

"I sure didn't find anything," Mack said, shrugging. "This place is emptier than the refrigerator in my apartment!"

"I may have found something of interest," Big D said, leafing through a file folder he had found on Freep's desk.

"What is it, chief?" Phyllis asked.

"Information on jungles of South America," Big D said. "There's also information in here about that tropane alkaloid you and Johnson found in the Kool-Aid, Phelps. And more information on various poisons that can be mixed with liquids."

"That definitely don't sound good," Mack said.

"Doesn't," Phyllis corrected him.

"Come on!" Multi shouted. "We've got to find Fluey and fast!"

"Well, we won't find him here, that's for sure," Reggie commented.

"Let's get back to the jets and take off," Coiley said. "We can use the tracking device in the Impossi-Jet, and the rest of you can use the other jets trackers to track us."

"Excellent idea," Big D said. "Everyone move out!"

The group ran back to their respective jets, and took to the air. Multi immediately turned on the Impossi-Jet's radar system, and typed in the special code for Fluey's wrist communicator. That was one thing about the Impossi-Mobile's tracking systems. It could be programmed to track down any SSHQ agent's communication device, from Fluey's wrist communicator, Coiley, and Multi's guitars, Phyllis's compact, Big D's radio, to Skittles's collar. As long as they plugged in the correct code into the computer system, it would be a snap to track someone or something. Within minutes, the radar began showing a blip on the screen.

"Head south by southeast, Coiley!" he shouted. "Wherever Fluey is, at least he has his communicator turned on!"

"Right, but I don't think we should attempt to contact him," Coiley said. "What if Jamie _didn't_ tell Freep about him? We'll blow his cover for sure."

"Right," Multi agreed. "You keep steering, Coiley. I'll watch the radar."

It didn't take long for the Impossi-Jet to catch up with Freep's private plane. They recognized the Lost Boys Foundation logo immediately. Freep suddenly noticed something on his plane's radar, and typed something into his onboard computer, to get a better look at what was following him.

"What the heck?" he asked. Then he grabbed the radio. "Jamie, I need you to come up to the cockpit for a minute, son!"

A few minutes later, Jamie reached the cockpit.

"What is it, Mr. Freep?" he asked.

"We're bein' tailed, that's what," Freep said. "By what looks like a giant flyin' gee-tar!"

"Oh crud!" Jamie shouted, looking at the computer screen. "It's the Impossi-Jet!"

"Ah knew they'd come after us sooner or later," Freep groaned. "Fasten that seatbelt, boy. Ah'm gonna do some fancy flyin' and lose those losers! Now just hold on real tight now."

Jamie sat down in the co-pilot's seat and fastened his seatbelt. Freep turned on the radio to talk to the other passengers.

"Attention boys!" he shouted. "We're experiencin' a little bit of turbulence. Please stay in your seats and fasten your seatbelts. We're in for a bit of a bumpy ride!"

Freep waited a few moments, and then, took the plane up at least ten feet, and went into a nose dive. Jamie let out a scream, and gripped the arm rests of the seat so hard, he practically imbedded his fingerprints in them!

"He must know we're on his tail," Coiley said.

"Follow him," Multi said, reinforcing his seatbelt, and strapping Skittles down with one as well, which she hated, and she voiced her complaint loudly.

"I know you hate the seatbelt, girl," Multi said. "But you don't want to go flying out of the car at over a thousand feet, do you?"

Coiley reinforced his own seatbelt, and dove after Freep. Freep saw that he hadn't lost the Impossi-Jet, and began doing some more fancy aerial maneuvers, in order to shake the two singing superheroes. He tried barrel rolls, twists, loops, and spins, but he just couldn't shake the Impossi-Jet!

"I think I need an airsick bag," Jamie moaned, looking a bit green in the face.

"These Impossibles are impossible!" Freep yelled. "Jamie, go to the cargo hold and check to see if their pal is bugged."

"He probably is," Jamie said, getting up. He walked into the cargo hold, and began searching for the crate where he and Freep had dropped Fluey. He found it quickly.

"Okay," he said, pulling Fluey to his feet and standing him up for the moment. He walked behind him, and found the wrist communicator.

"Fifty cents and seventy-five box tops, huh?" he asked, taking it off Fluey's wrist. "Who'd you think you were kidding, Fluey? My dad's been at the SSHQ since before either of us were born! I told you I know an SSHQ gadget when I see one!"

Jamie then practically threw Fluey back into the crate. Fluey let out a scream as Jamie dropped his wrist communicator to the floor, and stomped on it as hard as he possibly could, smashing it to pieces. Then Jamie walked over to an intercom on the wall.

"Mr. Freep?" he asked.

"What is it, Jamie?" Freep asked.

"You were right. He still had his wrist communicator, and there's a tracking device built into it. I took it off and smashed it."

"Good boy, Jamie. Now do me a little ol' favor and stay back there. Keep our little frayund company for awhile. Make sure he don't try anythin' stupid."

"Okay."

Jamie pulled up a second crate and sat down, trying to get comfortable. He looked at Fluey, and smirked.

"You blew it, baby," he said. Fluey just glared at him.

Because Jamie had smashed the communicator, Coiley and Multi lost the signal.

"Something's wrong, chief," Multi said, calling Big D on his guitar. "We lost the signal."

"You think they found his communicator?" Coiley asked.

"Most likely, they did," Big D said.

"What do we do now?" Multi asked.

"Do the best you can to track it down," Big D said.

It was about all they could do at the moment. Within an hour, Freep's plane had lost the Impossi-Jet, but he was about to run into another problem. He happened to glance at the fuel gauge, and he noticed the needle was getting extremely close to "E."

"Oh fluffernutter!" he shouted. "Mah little aerial show must've cause me to run out of gas! Only one thing to do now!"

Freep put the plane on automatic pilot for the moment, got up, and took a parachute out from a cabinet. He strapped it on, walked over to the door, and opened it.

"Ah knew those sky divin' lessons would come in handy one day," he said, and then he jumped. "GER-RONNIE-MOOOO!"

It wasn't until five minutes after Freep bailed out did someone notice. Jamie was still sitting in the cargo hold, when he suddenly felt the plane jerk. He got up, and went to the cockpit.

"Hey, Mr. Freep," he said, walking in. "What's going on in . . . . . ACK!"

Jamie saw that the cockpit was completely empty. No one was flying the plane! Jamie had no idea how in the world to fly, but he _did_ know someone on board who did. He knew Mr. Freep would be angry at him for it, but he _had_ to do it. He ran back to the cargo hold, pulled Fluey into a sitting position, and ripped the tape off his mouth.

"Ouch!" Fluey shouted. "Geez, I'm getting a little tired of that!"

"Sorry," Jamie said, not sounding very apologetic, but he did start taking the tape off Fluey's wrists. "We've got a problem. Mr. Freep's gone, and nobody's flying the plane."

"What do you mean nobody's flying the plane?" Fluey asked, as he began pulling the tape off his ankles.

"I mean nobody's flying the plane! You have a car that turns into a jet! DO SOMETHING!"

"All right, all right."

Fluey climbed out of the crate, and followed Jamie to the cockpit. Fluey noticed all the passengers were asleep.

"Don't wake them up," he warned Jamie. "I don't want to cause a panic."

"Right," Jamie said, nervously. "I'm panicked enough as it is."

Fluey and Jamie reached the cockpit, just as the plane began to nosedive. Immediately, Fluey raced for the steering mechanism.

"Holy high divers!" he shouted, trying to pull it. "Jamie, help me pull out of this dive!"

Jamie grabbed the steering mechanism as well, and both he and Fluey pulled with all their might, but it was no use. The plane was completely out of fuel.

"We can't pull out of this dive, Jamie," Fluey said. "Check for parachutes. We've got to bail out!"

Jamie opened a cabinet, but all he was able to find was one, single parachute. And that wasn't going to be enough for the whole plane.

"There's only one, Fluey!" he shouted.

"Oh rats!" Fluey groaned. "No way will that get everyone safely off this thing."

"Well, you've got super powers! Why don't you use them?!"

"I can't change into my superhero form without Multi and Coiley! If I could, I wouldn't even _be_ in this mess in the first place!"

"So what are we gonna do?!"

"As much as I hate to say this, we're just gonna have to abandon ship ourselves."

Fluey grabbed the parachute and strapped it on. Then he opened the door, and turned to Jamie.

"You with me?" he asked.

"Do you even know what you're doing?!" Jamie shouted.

"Not really."

"Terrific. I also can't believe you'd bail out and leave a bunch of people here to crash!"

"Look, Jamie, I don't want to do it. If I had access to my powers, things would be different, but I don't! This is the only way for us to get out of this mess alive! Now are you coming or not?"

"Oh all right."

Jamie walked over to the door, and grabbed onto Fluey, holding on as tight as he could. Then, Fluey jumped.

"Rally ho-ho!" he shouted, abandoning the plane, and the others aboard. After falling a few feet, Fluey yanked on the ripcord, and the chute deployed.

"We made it!" Jamie shouted.

"I wouldn't celebrate just yet," Fluey said, looking up at the plane. "We're not out of the woods until we hit ground!"

"Didja _have_ to use the word hit?" Jamie groaned.

"Sorry."

Jamie groaned again. So did Fluey. He only hoped he was able to steer that parachute so he and Jamie would land somewhere, and remain in one piece on the process!


	9. Jungle Jeopardy

Fluey and Jamie landed easily, but the trouble was they didn't have the slightest idea where they were, except maybe a jungle of sorts.

"Great," Fluey said, sarcastically, as he unhooked the parachute. "Just great."

"Well, genius, what do we do now?" Jamie asked, glaring at Fluey.

"I don't have the slightest idea," Fluey sighed. "I can't even tell where we are!"

"Oh that's just wonderful. Here we are, stranded in a jungle in the middle of nowhere."

Fluey sighed, and began walking. Jamie looked at him as if he were crazy.

"_Now_ what are you doing?" he asked.

"I'm going to go find some signs of life," Fluey said.

"Are you nuts?! You can't go into the jungle! You don't know what's in there!"

"Well, it's better than sitting around here doing nothing! You want to get out of here?"

"Of course I do!"

"Then come on!"

And that was all there was to that. Jamie got up, and followed Fluey, though he didn't really want to. But Fluey was right. It was better than sitting around doing nothing.

Meanwhile, Coiley and Multi were having a heck of a time tracking Fluey since Jamie had smashed his communicator. They were now flying over what appeared to be a very dense jungle.

"We'll never find him at this rate," Coiley said.

"I just hope he's okay," Multi sighed.

Suddenly, the boys saw what looked like smoke down in an area of the jungle, and something began beeping on the radar screen. Multi looked at it, hoping it was Fluey's communicator, but no such luck. He picked up the radio and contacted the other jets with it.

"We've picked up something down on the ground," he said. "Looks like there might have been a fire or an explosion or something. Should we land and check it out, Big D?"

"Yes," Big D replied. "We'll track you boys down and meet you there. And be careful!"

"Roger, chief," Multi said. "You heard the man, Coiley. Take 'er down."

"Gotcha, Multi," Coiley said, and he brought the Impossi-Jet down for a landing in the dense jungle.

Multi, Coiley, and Skittles jumped out of the Impossi-Jet, and Skittles immediately began sniffing the ground. Then, she barked, and went into her pointer routine.

_Poing!_

Multi and Coiley looked to where Skittles was pointing. It was a plane wreck. Coiley immediately recognized the Lost Boys Foundation logo painted on it. It had crashed, and caught on fire. Just as they found it, the other SSHQ jets landed. Big D, Phyllis, Reggie, and Dr. Phelps were the first ones on the scene.

"Oh my . . . . ." Phyllis said, looking at the wreck.

"Search for survivors," Big D ordered. "Get any identification you can."

"This is the part of the job that I hate," Dr. Phelps groaned, grabbing his medical bag and leading his medical team into the wreck. Coiley and Multi followed.

Even with at least ten people searching the wreckage, the agents weren't able to locate any survivors. After a couple of hours, Coiley, Multi, and the medical team had the results.

"How bad is it?" Phyllis asked.

"Unfortunately, bad," Dr. Phelps said. "There was not one single survivor on that plane, chief."

"Not good," Big D said. "Have they been identified?"

"I'm not sure," Dr. Phelps said. "I thing Grant was in charge of checking the list from Freep's files against identification we found on the boys in the plane . . . . . here he comes now."

"Chief, I've checked and double checked the lists from the LBF you picked up and the ID's on the group in the wreck," Agent Grant said, walking over. "According to Freep's list, there were supposedly a hundred fifteen people on that plane, and we only counted a hundred ten. Five are unaccounted for."

"Give me the names," Big D said.

"Freep himself, three kids named Neil Marks, Manny Martin, and Tony Franklin . . . . ." Grant read off.

"Oh, they're already accounted for," Multi interjected. "Those were Coiley and my assumed names."

"Okay, we'll scratch them," Grant said, crossing out some names.

"And Fluey's assumed name was Tony Franklin," Coiley explained. "And he's unaccounted for."

"Who's the last one missing?" Dr. Phelps asked, though he had a pretty good (or maybe bad) feeling he already knew the answer.

"I _really_ hate to tell ya this, Doc," Grant said, "but it's your kid."

"Oh great Gatsby . . . . ." Dr. Phelps said, feeling a little faint.

"Take it easy, Phelps," Big D said, guiding the doctor over to an area so he could sit down and possibly pull himself together. "Since Freep and the two boys are unaccounted for, there is a good chance they made it out of the wreck alive."

"That's true," Phyllis said. "But the fact of the matter is they're missing, and they could be anywhere in this jungle."

"We have to act quickly," Big D said. "Agent Grant, you take Agents Murdoch, Fillmore, and Donagan to one of the jets and fly to the nearest town. Let the local authorities there know what's going on. Then, I want you to find the families of every last person on that plane. They're going to need to know about this."

"Aw, chief, you know I hate having to break bad news!" Grant whined. "Especially to parents!"

"It must be done, Grant," Big D said. "I don't like it, either, but there's very little choice in the matter."

Grant nodded, and he and three other agents went for one of the jets.

"Agent Robertson," Big D said to Mack. "I want you to take that camera of yours and get as many photographs of the wreckage that you can. We may need them as evidence."

"Right, chief," Mack said, and he went to get the photos.

Big D then divided the rest of the agents into groups. They were going to search for Freep and the two missing boys. Coiley, Multi, Skittles, Phyllis, Reggie, and Dr. Phelps were going to go with Big D to search.

"This is going to be very nerve wracking," Dr. Phelps said.

"I'm aware of that, Phelps," Big D said. "I am truly aware of that. Now let's move."

"Boy, I sure have to hand it to Big D," Coiley said. "He really knows how to keep his head in an emergency."

"I thought he'd be a basket case, like Dr. Phelps," Multi said, lowering his voice so only Phyllis and Coiley could hear him. "Considering Fluey's his grandson and all . . . . ."

"That's my dad for you," Phyllis said, shrugging. "Nothing can get to him. But I don't blame Dr. Phelps for being a basket case. Believe me, you guys, there is nothing worse on a parent than losing your child. My dad knows that first hand."

Coiley and Multi nodded. Phyllis's brother, Jack Dawson, had been an agent of the SSHQ, and was murdered in the line of duty. Jack was also Big D's son (which made Phyllis his daughter), and, as it turned out, Fluey was Jack's son, and Big D's grandson. And truth be known, even though Big D seemed cool as a cucumber, he was a nervous wreck. But he wasn't going to let on. If the chief fell apart at the seams, then the rest of the agency would as well. Big D was a champion at hiding emotions. You had to be a rock to run a super secret organization, or else the world would be doomed.

Back in the jungle, Fluey and Jamie had stopped to rest for awhile. Their wanderings had taken them to an area of the jungle that was pretty muddy.

"Yeccchhh," Fluey said. "Boy, will I ever be glad to get outta here!"

"We're going around in circles," Jamie grumbled. "We're never gonna find our way out of here."

"I just wish you hadn't destroyed my communicator," Fluey said.

"Don't go blaming this on me!"

"I'm not blaming it on you, Jamie. I'm blaming this mess on that creep, Freep!"

"Oh come on! Mr. Freep was a great guy! He was helping us with our problems! That facility was for us to get in touch with our spiritual sides, and he was helping us look for spiritual tranquility!"

"Spiritual tranquility my foot. The man was a complete nut bar. Did he give you a reason for coming all the way out here to a South American jungle?"

"He said he was going to take us here because it would help us lose our troubles permanently. He wanted us to be in a quiet, peaceful, tranquil environment to do so."

"It figures. Jamie, listen to me. Freep told me his master scheme. He took you and the other boys to this remote South American jungle with the intention on poisoning all of you, and he chose this jungle because it's so far away from civilization, that nobody would find you guys for weeks, and by that time, he'd have escaped to who knows where, without a trace!"

"You're crazy, Fluey! You're completely out of your head! Mr. Freep cared about all of us! He cared about us more than our own families ever did!"

"Then why'd he go bail out of the plane and leave it to crash?!"

"Well, if you hadn't turned on your stupid wrist communicator, your buddies wouldn't have had to track Mr. Freep, who wasn't doing anything wrong in the first place, and then he wouldn't have had to bail out!"

"Oh yeah? Well, if _you_ hadn't blabbed my true identity to Freep, I never would have gotten caught, and therefore, I wouldn't have had to have Multi and Coiley track me down!"

"Well . . . . . well if _you_ hadn't been poking your nose where it didn't belong, then I wouldn't have had to tell Mr. Freep you were snooping around!"

"If _you_ hadn't joined a cult, then I wouldn't have . . . . ."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Wait a minute, hold the phone here! This was _not_ a cult!"

"Oh yes it was! There were more rules there than I had ever seen in my entire life! And Freep wouldn't let you do anything outside the walls of his facility, and I just know he put something in the Kool-Aid!"

"Fluey, you're full of it. You are _so_ full of it!"

"Oh good grief, Jamie! Why'd you think he had me tied up like that and thrown in the plane's cargo hold in the first place?!"

"He said you had been possessed by evil, and tying you up like he did was for your own good. He also told me the only way to cure you was to bring you down here."

"Jamie, he was gonna offer me as a human sacrifice. And he was gonna have you and the other boys cut me open like a biology class frog! The man is a psychopath!"

"Fluey, would you just shut up?!"

Jamie then scooped up a handful of mud and flung it at Fluey. It was right on target. SPLAT! Fluey wiped the mud off his face, and scooped some up himself.

"Okay, Phelps, if that's the way you wanna play it . . . . ." he shouted, throwing the mud at Jamie. "Catch!"

SPLAT! The mud ball hit Jamie right in the face. Jamie wiped most of it off, and growled. Then he charged, and tackled Fluey to the ground, and the boys began brawling, rolling around in the mud. They were throwing punches, grabbing at each other's hair and clothes, and flinging mud at each other. Finally, Jamie pushed Fluey off of him, and stood up.

"You're nothing but a liar!" he yelled. "I can find my own way out of this jungle! I don't need you!"

"Jamie," Fluey said, getting up. "Listen, JimBob Freep is just bad news! If we're gonna get out of this jungle, we're gonna have to work together!"

"I'm not working with you!" Jamie yelled, and he started to walk away. "You got yourself into this mess, and you can just get yourself out of it!"

Fluey groaned started going after him, when he felt someone grab his arm, and pull him back. Fluey dared to look and he gasped.

"Jamie!" he yelled, right before a hand clamped over his mouth.

Jamie still happened to be close by, and he could tell Fluey sounded panicked. He also knew Fluey wouldn't be able to do much in the face of danger without his superpowers, so he started to go back.

"What is it _now_, Fluey?" he asked, and stopped short when he saw none other than JimBob Freep, one hand firmly clamped over Fluey's mouth, and the other holding a gun. Fluey was struggling, but Freep had a good, strong grip on him.

"Not one move, Jamie boy," Freep said, aiming his gun right at Jamie. "Now start walkin'."

"But, Mr. Freep, I don't under . . . ." Jamie started.

"Ah said start walkin' and don't ask questions!" Freep yelled. "You boys are comin' with me! Now move!"

"Where are we going, Mr. Freep?" Jamie asked.

"Ah told you not to ask questions!" Freep yelled. "Just walk! Ah'll tell you when to stop! And you'd better not try anythin' funny, Jamie. And _you'd_ better not play the hero, Fluid Man, or else both of you are gonna get it! Now go!"

Jamie gulped and began walking. It was about all he could do. Fluey wasn't in much of a position to do anything, either. All he knew was that he, and Jamie, were in major trouble.


	10. Great Balls of Fire

Coiley, Multi, and the others continued wandering through the jungle, looking for signs of the two missing boys. They weren't going to worry about tracking down Freep at the moment.

"This is like looking for a needle in a haystack," Reggie said, pushing a large palm out of his way.

"We're never going to find them," Phyllis sighed.

"Never say never," Multi said, as he held Skittles's leash. Skittles was sniffing around trying to pick up a scent, but she wasn't having much luck.

"I really don't know how much more of this I can take," Dr. Phelps groaned.

"We'll find them, I'm sure of it," Big D said.

"I really don't know how you do it, Big D," Reggie said. "Nothing phases you, does it?"

"You'd be surprised, Johnson," Big D said.

"I just hope Skittles gets a scent soon," Multi said. The others agreed, because the way it looked now, they weren't going to find the boys any time soon.

Freep had taken Fluey and Jamie to a small shack deep in the jungle. He had them sitting back to back, tied to chairs. Fluey was writhing around, trying to get loose.

"I don't know why you're bothering," Jamie said.

"Jamie, we've got to get out of here or else we're dead!" Fluey shouted.

"I just don't get it. Mr. Freep seemed like such a nice guy. He wanted to help troubled kids. I don't understand why he's doing this."

"I do. The man is a psychopath."

"Oh, he is not!"

"Jamie, how can you defend him like this?!"

"Well . . . . . there's got to be a good explanation for this. I'm sure Mr. Freep won't hurt us."

"Oh for Pete's sake, Jamie!"

"All right, you two, cut out the noise," Freep said, walking over.

"What are you so worried about noise for?" Fluey asked. "You've got us in the middle of nowhere. No one's gonna hear us!"

"Ah ain't takin' chances," Freep said. "And besides which, ah cayunt stand smart aleck teenagers like you."

"What are you gonna do with us?" Jamie asked.

"Ah'm not sure yet," Freep replied. "Ah'll have to think about it a little."

"You . . . . you really wouldn't . . . . . _kill_ us," Jamie asked, nervously. "Would you?"

"Now, now, now, Jamie, whatever gave you a silly idea like that?" Freep asked. "Ah wouldn't do somethin' like that! You know ah wouldn't hurt either of you!"

"Oh brother," Fluey groaned, rolling his eyes. "Don't fall for it, Jamie. He's definitely up to something."

"What makes you say that?" Freep asked.

"Well, if you aren't planning on hurting us, then why'd you even bother to track us down and take us prisoner?" Fluey asked. "If you weren't planning on killing us, why have you got us tied up so we can't escape?"

"You know somethin' Fluid Man?" Freep asked, walking over to a desk. He pulled a briefcase out from underneath it, opened it, and took out a roll of duct tape. He ripped a piece off of it, and pressed it over Fluey's mouth.

"You talk too much," he said. "That should shut you up for awhile."

Fluey glared at Freep, and continued struggling against the ropes holding him to the chair. Freep sighed, and pulled his gun out.

"Ah don't know what ah'm gonna do with you," he said, whacking Fluey in the head with the gun, knocking him unconscious. Freep then turned to Jamie.

"You got anythin' to say?" he asked.

"No, sir," Jamie said, nervously.

"Good. Just keep your mouth shut, and we won't have any problems, now, will we?"

Jamie just nodded. It was about all he could do.

Night fell, and the search parties weren't coming up with anything.

"I'm beginning to wonder if this is a lost cause," Reggie said, taking a couple of flashlights out of his backpack.

"Zip it, Reggie," Dr. Phelps said. Then he pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.

"Phelps, maybe you should head for one of the jets and get back to Megatropolis," Big D suggested. "You look absolutely exhausted."

"No, chief," Dr. Phelps argued. "I'm not stopping until the boys are found. Besides, I'd be too worried about Jamie to get any rest, anyway."

Big D just nodded. He knew how Dr. Phelps felt, but he didn't say anything. Skittles suddenly started sniffing one spot for several moments, and then barked excitedly.

"What's with her?" Dr. Phelps asked.

"I think she's picked up a trail!" Multi shouted.

"Well, what are we waiting for?" Coiley asked. "Let's go!"

Skittles barked again, and led the group down a pathway. They felt this was it.

Meanwhile, Freep was pulling things out of his briefcase. Neither of the boys could see what it was he was doing, but Fluey wasn't sure he wanted to know. The whole thing was creeping him out. Since there was no electricity in the shack, Freep was working by the light of a kerosene lamp, which didn't give off much light. Suddenly, the sound of a barking dog was heard outside.

"What in the world . . . ." Freep began, and he looked out the window of his shack. He saw flashlights in the distance.

"Oh horseradish!" he shouted. "Someone's comin'! I'll have to make it look like nobody's t'home."

Freep closed the curtains on all the windows, and turned down the light on the lamp, just enough so he could still see what he was doing, and so that nobody could see there was a light on inside. And to make sure whoever was coming didn't know anyone was inside, he ripped off a piece of duct tape, and pressed it over Jamie's mouth.

"Now you two don't make one move or one sound," he warned. "Or else."

Jamie gulped. Fluey just glared at Freep. The barking became louder as whoever was coming got closer. Fluey immediately recognized it as Skittles.

"I think Skittles is onto something," he heard Coiley say outside.

"How accurate is her nose?" Dr. Phelps asked.

"Pretty accurate," Multi said. "Whenever she tracks something, she usually finds it."

"Look over here," Phyllis said, pointing her flashlight towards the shack. "Maybe there's someone inside that's seen Fluey and Jamie."

Phyllis ran to the shack and knocked on the door. Inside, Freep didn't move. He didn't say anything, either. He hoped these people would go away and soon. Phyllis knocked again, louder this time. Still no answer.

"Doesn't look like anyone's home," Coiley said.

"Maybe we'd better keep moving," Phyllis said. The others agreed.

The group began to leave, though Skittles began barking, and pulling against her leash, towards the shack.

"Come on, girl, there's nothing there," Multi said. Skittles began whining as Multi managed to pull her away from the shack. Since nobody there spoke dog, they didn't know what she was saying.

Once the group was gone, Freep turned up the light a bit, and walked toward the boys with a large syringe filled with a weird purple liquid.

"Now then, ah hope we don't have any more inter-rup-shee-uns," he said. He pushed the pump on the syringe, and the liquid inside it pumped out of the needle.

Fluey could feel his heart beating in his throat as Freep came toward him with the syringe, smiling sinisterly. He could only guess what was in that thing. It was probably Freep's poison. He was going to inject it into the two boys. Fluey had to act fast. He and Jamie were tied too tightly to break loose, and there was no way Fluey could remove the tape from his mouth. Fluey thought about his options when he noticed the kerosene lamp on the table behind Freep. It was a risky idea, but he just _had_ to get Big D's and the others attention, and he knew this would do it. He was glad that Freep only tied his ankles together, and didn't restrain his legs to the chair. He maneuvered a bit, and managed to get his legs off the floor, enough to give Freep a good, hard kick in his stomach.

"Hmmpphh!" he grunted as his feet connected with Freep's belly.

"Ooof!" Freep yelled, stumbling backwards. As he fell, he knocked into the table, which knocked the kerosene lamp to the floor. It broke, and kerosene spilt all over the floor, and was ignited by the flame from the lamp.

"Uh oh," Freep said. "Now you've done it, you stupid kid! You just cooked your own goose! Ah'm gettin' outta here!"

And with that, Freep ran out of the shack as fast as he could, leaving Fluey and Jamie alone, and unable to escape.

_Maybe this wasn't such a good idea,_ Fluey thought, nervously as the fire spread rapidly. He _really _wished he had his powers about now. Then he'd be able to make short work of this fire. He could only hope Coiley, Multi, and the others would notice it and soon!

Lady Luck was smiling on the boys, fortunately. Coiley, Multi, and the others weren't that far away when Freep knocked into the table. Skittles began barking hysterically.

"Do you smell something?" Reggie asked, sniffing the air. "It smells kinda smells like . . . . ."

"Holy smoke!" Multi shouted, glancing towards the shack. "Smoke!"

"Looks like a fire," Coiley said. "Let's go!"

The group ran back to the shack, and into Freep on the way.

"Why don't y'all watch where ah'm goin'?!" Freep yelled.

"JimBob Freep," Big D said, standing up. "Why am I not surprised?"

"Ho boy," Freep groaned.

"Okay, Freep, we want answers and we want them fast," Coiley said. "Where are Fluey and Jamie?"

"Ah don't have the slightest idea what y'all are talkin' about," Freep said. Skittles suddenly began growling at him. Multi took off her leash.

"Stay, Skittles," he commanded. Skittles stayed by her master, obediently, but she still growled at Freep. Multi knew she wouldn't do anything unless he told her to.

"We'll ask you again, Freep," Big D said. "Where are the two boys?"

"Now why would ah know?" Freep asked. "Ah haven't seen anybody 'round here."

"Okay," Multi said, and turned to his pup. "Skittles, sic him!"

Skittles growled, and jumped toward Freep. Freep began running around in a panic.

"Nyah-hah!" he shouted, running around in a circle with Skittles nipping at his heels. "All right! All right! You win! They're in the shack! Just call this monster dog off!"

"Okay Skittles, come here, girl!" Multi called.

"Did he just say the shack?" Coiley said.

"Ah did," Freep said, looking smug. "And as y'all can plainly see, the place is up in flames!"

"Oh no!" Phyllis shouted.

"If ever there was a time to need Fluey's powers, this would be it!" Coiley shouted. "Let's go, Multi!"

"Rally ho!" the two Impossibles yelled, and ran for the shack, but they stopped suddenly, and went back.

"What's wrong?" Reggie asked.

"We'll never make it," Multi said. "The smoke's too thick."

"We can't stand here and do nothing!" Phyllis yelled.

"I've called for back up," Big D said. "And who knows how long it's going to take them."

"I'm going in," Dr. Phelps said, putting a surgical mask over his face, followed by a pair of goggles. Then he grabbed his medical bag, and went in.

"Dr. Phelps, are you nuts?!" Reggie shouted.

But Dr. Phelps wasn't listening. He ran into the shack.

"Jamie! Fluey!" he called. "Are you boys in here?!"

Dr. Phelps heard a mix of coughing, and muffled screaming nearby, and ran to the source of it. He found the boys quickly, and pulled a scalpel out of his bag.

"Hold on, boys," he said. "I'll have you out of here in no time!"

Dr. Phelps quickly cut the ropes. Fluey immediately pulled the tape off his mouth, and began untying his ankles.

"Thanks, Dad," Jamie said, once he pulled the tape off.

"Come on!" Fluey shouted. "We gotta get out of here!"

"Right behind you!" Jamie shouted.

"Follow me, boys, and stay low!" Dr. Phelps said, and he led the boys out of the shack.

"There they are!" Coiley shouted. "Are you guys okay?"

"Yeah," Fluey said, coughing a little. "A little smoke in the lungs, but other than that, fine. Listen, fellas, we'd better do the quick change bit before this fire spreads any farther!"

"Good idea!" Multi shouted.

And in a flash of psychedelic colors, the singing Impossibles became the superhero Impossibles. Fluey quickly converted to liquid and shot skyward.

"Rally ho-ho!" he shouted, transforming once again, into a storm cloud directly over the fire, and put it out by raining on it. Once it was out, he came back down and morphed to solid once more.

"Good work, Fluey," Multi said.

"Hey, fellas!" Reggie called. "Freep's getting away!"

"So long, suckers!" Freep yelled, running away. "You'll never catch me!"

"He runs pretty fast for a big, fat tub of lard," Phyllis commented.

"Don't worry, we'll take care of him," Multi said.

"Rally ho!" the trio shouted, and took off after the fleeing fat man. They managed to catch up to him after awhile. Multi duplicated and surrounded him.

"Rally ho!" he shouted. "Give up while you still can, Freep! I've got you surrounded!"

"Be careful, Multi!" Fluey called, streaming forward. "He's armed!"

"Thanks for remindin' me," Freep said, taking out his gun. He began firing, destroying all the duplicates. "And ah intend on gettin' the original, too!"

"Oh no you don't!" Coiley shouted, springing forward, fist first. "Rally ho!"

Coiley gave Freep a good, hard, punch right in the gut. Freep doubled over, and Fluey took advantage of this.

"Rally ho-ho!" he shouted, going into a full conversion. He splashed right into Freep. Then he went back, converted to solid, went into a partial conversion, and charged Freep as fast as he could, with his arm outstretched, and fist tightly clenched. He gave Freep a good sock in the nose, causing the fat man to stumble backwards, and land directly into a mud puddle, and was stuck.

"You give up?" Fluey asked, converting to solid and standing on Freep's stomach.

"Yeah," Freep said, breathlessly. "Ah give up. Ah'll go quietly. Hoo boy."

That was all there was to that. Pretty soon, the SSHQ had Freep handcuffed, and ready to transport to jail.

"You just wait," Freep said, glaring at Fluey. "Ah'm gonna get me a good lawyer! Ah'm gonna get out of jail! And when ah do, you're gonna be one sorry kid, Fluid Man! Ah'll getcha. Mark mah words, ah'll getcha!"

"Yeah, right," Fluey said, sarcastically. "Once Jamie and I testify against you in court, they'll lock you up and throw away the key!"

Freep growled as a couple of SSHQ agents escorted him aboard a helicopter and took off.

"Looks like another case closed," Coiley said. "What do you think, Jamie?"

"I think I screwed up big time," Jamie said. "Fluey was right. If it weren't for me falling for Freep's false promises . . . . ."

"Don't beat yourself up over it, Jamie," Dr. Phelps said. "Freep was tricky."

"Yeah," Jamie said. "I'm also really sorry for what I put you through, Dad. And you want to know something?"

"What's that, Jaim?" Dr. Phelps asked.

"After all this, I am _never_ complaining about how boring my life is again!"

THE END


End file.
